


With You

by japansace



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Canon Universe, Established Relationship, Fluff, I SWEAR EVERYTHING'S FINE VICTOR IS JUST BEING DRAMATIC AS ALWAYS, Light Angst, M/M, desperate lovemaking, i'm making that a genre now, sex as a vehicle for character development, takes place slightly after the GPF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-01
Updated: 2017-09-01
Packaged: 2018-12-22 08:26:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11963541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/japansace/pseuds/japansace
Summary: Victor is very excited about having Yuuri move with him to St. Petersburg.There's just one little problem: He hasn't asked him to yet.





	With You

**Author's Note:**

> Me: *stepping out of the shower with A Thought™* OH BOY, DO I HAVE AN IDEA.

Victor Nikiforov has never felt nervous.

Until now, that is.

Wait, that can't be right. Victor Nikiforov is _human_ , after all. He's had to have felt nervous at some point in his life... 

Right? 

Oh, Victor thinks suddenly, recalling an instance. Nerves are like... like... when you find a spider in the bathtub. Those are nerves, right?

("No, Victor," Yuuri disputes when he asks him, looking a tad annoyed and—if Victor is reading him right—a bit jealous. "Those aren't nerves.")

So then. He's never felt nervous. 

Except now. Now, he definitely is.

It started a few weeks ago on a video call with Yurio, shortly after the Grand Prix Final. The recent gold medalist went back to Russia while Victor and Yuuri returned briefly to Hasetsu before they made the move.

At least, that's what Yurio had assumed.

"Huuuuuh?" Yurio leaned closer to the screen, all scowl. "What do you mean you don't know?"

Victor paused, pensive. Yurio had stated that, obviously, him and Yuuri were going to be moving to Russia to train before Worlds—to which Victor neither confirmed nor denied.

He wasn't being coy. He genuinely had no idea.

Getting nothing but radio static, Yurio leaned back into his chair with a huff, arms crossed. He looked... oddly put-out? Was that the English term?

"You're engaged for fuck's sake," Yurio murmured, almost like he was afraid Victor would hear him. A little louder (and more notably pissed off), he rattled, "So of course he's moving in with you! It just makes sense! He'll be here soon, right?"

"Yurio..." Unconsciously, a smile slithered onto Victor's face. "Yurio, do you miss Yuuri?"

" _No_!" Fists slammed into the table alongside the declaration. "No, I do _not_! So shut up!"

Victor only smiled wider.

"But really though..." Yurio visibly settled, blowing a strand of hair out of his face. "You guys are coming, right? I mean, you did ask him, right? If he would move in?"

Well.

Well...

Uh... Hmm...

"Not..." Victor flinched, as though hearing the words out loud was physically painful. "Not in so many words...?"

Yurio was deadpan. "You haven’t asked him."

It wasn't a question.

"Yes... Er, no... I mean, I haven't... I haven't asked him." Victor scratched the back of his head, suddenly self-conscious. "I just... thought he would know...? Okay, that sounds bad, but hear me out, Yurio—"

"I've heard _enough_ ," Yurio barked. "Just ask him then. Can't be that hard. You're gonna get _married_. Moving in with you is obvious, right?"

Yes, that had been Victor's point of view. It was obvious. _Too_ obvious. Yuuri tended to miss stuff like this all the time.

Plus, asking your fiancé to move in with you is one thing. Asking your fiancé to move _thousands of miles_ across the world to a foreign country is an entirely different scenario.

Which led Victor to his current situation...

Because Victor Nikiforov did not get nervous.

Until he did.

He had been trying to find a way to ask Yuuri for weeks now. Part of him thought that that he was simply waiting for the opportune moment—a beautiful, romantic moment with all the patented Victor Nikiforov charm he could muster—but the other part (the louder and truer part) knew he was just terrified of Yuuri's answer.

He had come close to asking a few days before at the beach. While taking a walk among the waves, Yuuri had looked over at Victor, the setting sun imparting a rosy glow onto his hair and skin, and smiled like he could have been perfectly content to live in that tiny moment forever.

Victor had gulped, heart loud against his chest, and squeezed Yuuri's and his connected hands almost involuntarily, his entire being screaming to be with the man beside him forever.

But before he could ask—before he could even think the words "Yuuri, will you move in with me?"—Mari called out to them, telling them to come eat something before the picnic they had packed got cold.

Victor had only gone because Yuuri did first, and any place without Yuuri was hardly a place at all.

Which, again, led him to his dilemma.

He still hasn’t asked him. One week out from official Worlds training, and _still,_ Victor can’t get words to cooperate with him. Russian… Japanese… English… No matter the language, words fail him.

How does Victor set adjectives to the way his fiancé’s silky hair feels carded between his fingers or verbs to the graceful flutter of his eyelashes as he dreams? Does he dare risk sullying the soft simplicity of Yuuri’s voice when he rounds the consonants of Victor’s name by attaching something as vague and complicated as _words_ to it?

Besides, when have words been his and Yuuri’s strong suit anyway? _Never._ They got together through a _viral video._ So, perhaps, he’s just meant to let things happen as they happen. Que sera, sera. What will be, will be.

Except, it’s the logistics that complicates things.

Yuuri needs to pack. Yuuri needs to sign up for a Russian phone plan. Yuuri needs to kiss reassurances into Victor’s skin over and over again until his body becomes fully acclimated to the feeling—so dependent on Yuuri, in fact, that they can never be parted again.

One of these matters is far more pressing than the others.

He gets half his fill in the onsen that night, the two cuddling up against one another despite being the only ones present in the open bath. It’s good—it chases the exhilarating chill from Victor’s skin where he’s not submerged and left to the elements—but it’s not nearly enough. Usually, Yuuri resists at least somewhat when Victor attaches himself so thoroughly to his fiancé’s side (in public especially), but there’s not even the barest hint of protest tonight.

No—tonight, Yuuri seems to be of the same mind.

His suspicions are confirmed when Yuuri plants himself in Victor’s lap once they’re back in the banquet hall, settling in with exaggerated hip movements that do all kinds of unspeakable cruelties to Victor’s already frayed self-control.

Not that he would ever hold himself back for something like this.

Just to be that much closer, Yuuri winds his arms around Victor’s neck and leans in, the closeness a proposal, the breath on his lips a promise, his eyes a question.

Because Yuuri doesn’t need words. He’s far superior to anything a linguist can come up with.

But he asks anyway.

“You… You want to…?”

And god, like Victor would ever say no—like he would ever turn down perfection. But he loves that Yuuri asks. He loves, he loves, he _loves_ —

“ _Yes_.” Victor’s answer is all breath. Yuuri laughs upon hearing it, disbelieving, somehow, that he has this kind of power over the other, but he doesn’t question it—doesn’t dare think about it for too long for fear that it’ll immediately disappear upon closer inspection.

Victor wants to tell him that there’s no need to worry—that he’s not going anywhere.

But then he remembers what he has failed to ask Yuuri for weeks now, and he feels his throat close up a little at the thought that maybe he is.

With their close proximity, Yuuri notices immediately when Victor tenses up beneath him. He makes a questioning noise that’s just a bit shaky with unease, and Victor hates it— _hates_ it—because he’s the one would should feel bad, not Yuuri. He’s the one who can’t say some simple words. He’s the coward who can’t stand the thought of Yuuri leaving him—of Yuuri being apart from him for more than a second—and Yuuri should not have to suffer a pang of anxiety just because Victor can’t force a stupid question from his mouth.

Victor can’t stand that furrow between Yuuri’s eyebrows any longer, so he kisses it away, feeling a touch better but also a touch guiltier. He should talk—he should just _talk_ —but Yuuri doesn’t inquire further—with words or otherwise—so he steels his resolve yet again, determined not to let his bullshit interfere anymore with this beautiful, isolated moment between him and the love of his life.

And for a while, it doesn't.

Yuuri ends up staying exactly where he is, though the layers between them steadily decrease until there are none to speak of.

Victor thought he would be able to stuff his troubles deep into the crevasses of his mind once he was distracted enough with the visage of Yuuri’s beauty and the borderline overwhelming feelings that always accompanied their coming together, but inexplicitly, he feels _worse._

With every inch of skin Yuuri reveals, he thinks, _What if I never see this again?_ With every gentle caress between his and Yuuri’s body, he wonders if it’ll be the last. When Yuuri takes Victor in—blush pinkening, eyes fluttering, a mewling little “ _oh_ ”—Victor almost cries with the fear that he might only experience it one more time.

It drives him to pleasure Yuuri more—to almost beg with his body for Yuuri to understand what he’s trying to get across. His bruising hold on Yuuri pleads, his legs supporting Yuuri’s back implore, his never-wavering gaze demands.

He feels like a hypocrite for ever having called Yuuri selfish.

“Victor,” Yuuri says, momentarily breaking Victor out of his spiral of self-deprecation, and oh, did Yuuri get even more gorgeous in the moment he wasn’t entirely focused on him? It certainly looks that way with how he practically glows in the minimal light flittering through the shouji screen, how his muscles push and pull like the tides as he lowers himself down and then back up again, how he pants softly as not to wake up the entire inn but can’t help but whimper on the descent when Victor fills him just right.

And it’s like he _knows_. He doesn’t, but he’s far more fluent in these things—in subtle nuances and social tact and implied meanings—than Victor will ever be. He knows just enough to be dangerous. 

Just enough to lean beside Victor’s ear and whisper, “It’s all right. I’m here.”

And something in Victor just _breaks._

Perhaps, if he was feeling more poetic, he’d claim it was his glass heart shattering, but he can’t because the world is askew, and nothing is right, but _everything is right,_ and Yuuri is still warm and present in his lap, but he still doesn’t have his answer, and he’s so happy, but he’s so _frustrated,_ and it’s the best kind of torture Victor has ever experienced.

All at once, he can’t hold back. Not anymore. Not after that.

"Yuuri..." Victor tightens his already bracing grip on the man's hips. "Yuuri, move in with me." 

"W-what...?" Yuuri doesn't look as though he exactly registers the request, head once again tipped back in demonstrated pleasure, eyes vacant but for a never-ending outpour of love. "What did you...?"

Suddenly, Victor needs to be closer. Using the leverage he already has in their current position, he gently flips Yuuri under him, bracketing him in place and taking over the rhythm of their lovemaking.

"Move in with me," Victor says, articulating carefully as to not be misconstrued between reverent kisses to Yuuri's neck and thrusts into his enveloping heat. "Move in and marry me. Be with me always. Stay close to me and never leave."

"Victor..." Yuuri looks at Victor fondly—almost pityingly—as though he's said something profoundly childish. It takes Victor a moment to realize he's crying—just a little in the corners of his eyes—and Victor watches in shocked awe as one tear slides gracefully down a flushed cheek. "Idiot... You didn't need to ask. I would follow you anywhere. You couldn't keep me away."

Victor realizes at some point that he's started crying too, but because Yuuri is far more important, he thumbs the tears away from Yuuri's eyes, watching as his love takes it in stride as easily as if he was doing it himself. 

And because Victor can't possibly hear it enough, he prompts, "You promise?"

"Yes, Victor, I promise. F-forever! Forever, Victor! Forever!" Yuuri's voice breaks as Victor moves in purposefully unfair ways, but his prize for doing so more than makes up for any scolding he might get later. "Forever, so _please_ —!"

As if Victor would stop _now_.

He’s desperate again, but it’s a far sweeter desperation this time. Instead of fearing Yuuri could vanish at any moment, he’s now out to prove something—to prove to Yuuri that he’ll never regret this decision and that Victor will cherish him always. And with the weight of guilt off his chest, he’s more energetic than he’s felt in weeks, pressing Yuuri into the mattress like it’s his only goal in life.

Victor is surprised when Yuuri is suddenly talkative again.

“Is… Is this what’s been worrying you?” Yuuri asks breathlessly, somehow maintaining an inquiry through an assault on the senses.

Victor’s rhythm falters. “You noticed.” It was meant to be a question but is far too impressed-sounding to be anything but praise.

If Victor didn’t know any better, he’d say that Yuuri laughed at him a little just then. “You’re… You’re easier to read than you think you are.”

Victor is not quite sure if he should be insulted or not.

He decides “or not” and swoops in for a kiss.

“You could have,” Yuuri mumbles against his lips, a little delirious with feeling, “just asked me… before… I would have told you.”

“I was scared,” Victor admits, and he doesn’t like how soft his voice becomes at the end, but there’s hardly any point in hiding anything now.

Yuuri hums, closing his mouth over Victor’s again and then gasping into it when Victor sneaks his arm between them to take ahold of Yuuri. “Victor Nikiforov… scared of me… That’s funny.”

Victor chuckles fondly. “I’m glad you find it so amusing, love, but we can’t let this keep happening. We just need to talk… Both of us.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Later though.”

“Later,” Yuuri agrees readily.

It’s a sentiment that Victor can easily understand—even without the words.

* * *

 

“So, you asked him?”

Victor flips his camera so that Yurio can see Yuuri packing boxes. “Yep!”

“Well…” Yurio seems a bit shell-shocked—almost as though he fully expected that he would have to personally fly to Hasetsu himself to straighten out the matter. “Then… good… I guess.”

Yuuri peers up from a box of clothes he hasn’t worn since high school, shaking his head playfully at the phone directed towards him. “Are you excited to see me, Yurio?”

“What? No, I’m— _gross._ Why would you even—?”

He’s drowned out by their laughter, which in turn, also buries his sigh of relief.

**Author's Note:**

> If you're not writing Victor Nikiforov as deeply sensitive and desperate half an inch under the surface, you're writing him wrong.
> 
>  
> 
> ~~oh my god i edited this way too many times i JUST WANTED TO GET THEIR RELATIONSHIP RIGHT, OKAY? ~~~~~~


End file.
